Pirates of the Caribbean: Blood Red Roses
by Chrissy0Chris
Summary: When Captain Mercy is named Pirate Lord of the Caribbean seas, she and her crew find that Jack Sparrow's legacy leads to nothing but trouble.


Every eye in the seedy little Tortugan tavern hooked on the young women who sauntered inside. A peaches-and-cream-colored blonde, whose choppy locks barely fell past her sharp jaw. Her face would have held a certain innocence if not for a pair of large, sage-colored eyes that seemed to scan the room for a fight. The slender fingers of her right hand tapped the handle of the imposing pistol that swung about her waist. Her other hand clung to one of an olive tone, belonging to—A girl whose wide, pretty face was framed by curtains of silky black hair that halted at the middle of her ribs. It was bound out of her dark, almond-shaped eyes by a strip of green cloth knotted around her forehead. They parted and the figure behind them, cloaked in the darkness that set beyond the doorframe finally stepped between them and into view, as if the pair provided a fanfare. Not much over five feet with a shape that undulated as bountifully as the sea, the obvious leader tipped up the front of her tri-cornered hat and let the dim light illuminate cast a glow on her features: dark doe-eyes, a nose like a button and red-brown lips plump as summer fruit, all set a girlishly round face of umber.

Every eye averted.

The Red Rose Crew spent the past few years making quite a name for themselves. The head three, Captain Mercy and her First Mates, had nary reached the age of twenty-two before their names spread across the British territories and their faces plastered sign posts therein. Lucille Quinn Fabray: the hot-tempered daughter of a commodore, known to have run off at sixteen on the day of her wedding with her handmaiden. The girl's lover, called Tina, hailed from East Asia. Very little is known of her family or origins, but according to the tales, she spoke not a word until the day she first buried a blade into the back of a man who made the misfortunate mistake of grappling with Quinn. Her words: "The bloody bastard deserved it."

Even less was known about the woman known only as Mercy- owner and commander of their ship, the Red Rose. Mostly that she was young, beautiful, fiercely efficient at her trade and a talented killer. Sometimes her name proved ironic, sometimes not.

The rhythmic click of their boots was the loudest sound in the cramped hovel until they were seated. Then the cursing, clanging and discord resumed. In a far corner at the edge of the room, the cacophony grew particularly ardent. An imposing man with a face that would be handsome—were it not contorted in mad rage. He spat a curse in the Spanish tongue. _Shit-licker_, Mercy idly translated as she plopped down coins for a round of pints.

"You refuse to pay off your wager!" he barked through his heavy accent, "Should I take my payment in blood then?!"

By the time his shouts attracted attention, the table in front of him was flipped on its side, playing cards and dark liquor scattered for yards. The Roses, in unison, cocked their heads toward the scene of the commotion. Quinn's features were alight in delight of the possibility of a brawl. Tina frowned curiously, and Mercy simply looked on, expressionless.

"Harassing old beggars for a few coins," she quipped to her comrades as she fiddled absentmindedly with the cross around her neck, "The word '_overcompensation_' comes to mind."

The brunt of the attack, a haggard old man with hair like gray yarn, hobbled backwards, his hands outstretched to maintain a safe distance between the two.

"I'm good for it, mate—" he slurred, "I am. I just don't have me purse on me right at this moment, savvy? But if you'd give me a moment—"

"Damn your purse. _That _will be my payment," the large man hissed as he made a lunge for a small bauble that dangled from the beggar's head-wrap. The old man spun out of his reach with speed and agility that would prove impressive for anyone, let alone someone his age—which could be placed somewhere in his 60's.

"Listen, I don't know why you'd want such a silly old—"

Making another grab at the beaded ribbon, the assailant growled, "You _know_ why I want it!"

Without so much as looking up from the filthy rag he wiped across the bar, the barkeep grumbled, "Take it outside, boys."

The old man, shuffling toward the door as fast as he could, mumbled, "Don't mind if I— oomph!" He spilled on to the table where the three women sat, causing each of them to hop up defensively. Quinn's pistol was already cocked at him by the time he lifted his shaggy head, glancing up at them with lined eyes that darted like a rabbit's.

"My apologies, ladies—"

"Yeah, yeah, watch where you're going, old man," hissed the blonde, but the old man paid her no mind.

Instead, his eyes locked on her captain. He stared Mercy down, his eyes travelling from her face down to the old, gold crucifix that rested in the swell of her cleavage.

"Nice necklace, love."

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she clutched it protectively.

"Move along, old man," Quinn threatened, "Don't you have a beating to catch?"

As if on cue, the large Spaniard grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and half-dragged him through the doors.

Mercy turned to her crew with an exasperated sigh, and gulped from her pint. Not one of them flinched at the sound of gunshot. Many of the bar's patrons rushed out to survey the scene, but the Roses remained firmly in place. Quinn plopped back down into her chair, propping her boot on the table and declared, "Men are utterly sickening."

Tucking a golden lock behind her lover's ear, Tina corrected, "Not Little Joey."

"Give him a few years, love, and he will be."

Frowning at Mercy, Tina inquired, "Where _is _he anyway?"

"He showed his _cojones _on that silk ship. I sent him down to the pier to visit the girls. He's earned it."

Tina quirked an elegantly arched brow, her lips curling up in an amused smirk, "Good on 'im. Maybe he'll stop thinking so much about _you_, then."

Mercy's cheeks flushed, which she buried her face behind her pint to conceal.

The blonde ribbed with a sideways grin, "What do you mean? I bet he's thinking about her right now!"

Quinn and Tina shared a chuckle as Mercy rolled her eyes beneath her long lashes, "You two are despicable, you know that, don't you?"

But Quinn continued, "I can almost hear him now—crying out in the throws of passion—"

"CAPTAIN MERCY!"

The gangly youth had just burst forth, panting. His shirt was barely tucked into his pants, and his belt hung unfastened. His dreadlocks were free of their usual binding, falling freely around his handsomely-formed face like tentacles as he doubled over, panting for breath.

"What is it, Joe? " Mercy pressed as she crossed to the young man she'd taken under her wing. He was three years her junior, yet she hawked over him maternally nonetheless. Elfish gray eyes looked up at her.

"He's dead."

"The old codger?" quipped Tina from behind.

"Yeah," shrugged Quinn, "who cares?"

He stood to his full height, a whole head above his superior.

"That old codger was Captain Jack Sparrow."

And the sound of the name, all three of the women rushed to the throng that had collected around the body. Murmurs of disbelief more than sorrow spread across the mass that had accumulated. It was as if these people expected the man to live forever. Or that at least, once his time, he would fall at a force far less mundane than the common bullet.

Mercy guessed she could see it. The dead face with the gaunt, black eyes could have once held the wicked charm her Mama spoke of. She might have seen a glint of it when he fell halfway into her lap inside the tavern. In the frozen face, she could also see the thirst for mischief and affinity for trouble her Mama mentioned as well. His demise was nothing but proof.

Out of respect, for the stories she knew well if not for the man himself, the woman removed her tri-cornered hat, replacing it only once she crossed back over the tavern's threshold, followed by Joe, Tina and Quinn—whose smirk had been wiped clean and replaced with an expression resembling remorse as she wrapped her arm around Tina's waist.

Utterly traumatized, the raven-haired woman shook her head, "Oh, how the mighty have fallen…"

"Well," Captain Mercy exhaled, retaking her pint and lifting it to the sky, "To Death, Jack Sparrow and the longest game of Tag ever played."

The tipping of her mug was followed by the expected slosh of ale on wood, but also the not-so-expected clatter of bone and bead.

Stooping for a closer look, the captain inhaled with a hint of amusement spreading across her face. Taking the dangling trinket between her small fingers, she breathed through a curious smirk, "Well…I'll be damned."


End file.
